It just happened, without warning. The hand of fate, destiny - whatever it is that guides the affairs of men - descended and, as I heard myself speaking, I realised I was crossing the line.

A month ago President Olusegun Obasanjo of Nigeria visited the Ogoni region to lay a foundation stone to a memorial in honour of 13 men, including my father, who had been killed during the Ogoni people's struggle for self-determination. His visit was to begin official recognition that my father is to be exonerated by the state. Actually it was the second instalment of that process, because Obasanjo had already released my father's remains to my family for a proper burial which we conducted last December - almost 10 years to the day after he was murdered.

Asked to give a vote of thanks on behalf of the families, I offered some thoughts on forgiveness and the need to move on from grief to embrace peace. Thoughts that have been a philosophical disposition towards my country since the morning I was told my father had been hanged for a crime he did not commit.

But as much as you want to forgive, to forget would be a dereliction of filial duty because many of the systematic problems that contributed to my father's death - endemic corruption, casual disregard for the rule of human, moral and natural law by government and by multinational oil companies - remain cancerous cells in the body politic of my country. For those reasons I have maintained my distance. As someone once told me, a wise man never gets himself into the kind of trouble that a clever man can talk himself out of.

But now that has changed. My speech before the President vaulted me across the line. Now, one month later, I am writing this in my new guise as a special assistant to the President of Nigeria on peace, conflict resolution and reconciliation. A mouthful of a moniker and a handful of work, but it took a few days of hard introspection before I decided it was time to put philosophical beliefs to practical test. Even though the state was responsible for my father's death, I have joined it.

The responses to my appointment have ranged from the sober to the vitriolic, from those who feel that it is the beginning of the end of Ogoni's agonies to those who believe I have sold out my father's political legacy. I have had to remind supporters and critics that I have yet to receive a brief from a President whose missions on peace, conflict resolution and reconciliation range from Darfur to Liberia.

But I know that the unfolding saga in the Niger Delta is uppermost in his mind and is critical not just for Nigeria's future but for regional security and the global economy. Kidnappings of oil workers by militants in the delta are a regular occurrence. Only last week two Filipinos were the latest unfortunates in a political drama with so many subplots that it defies a neat summary, let alone a remedial strategy. The people there who have suffered the 'resource curse' of poverty in the middle of great wealth have inspired fierce thirst for justice.

The issues my father died for are still very much alive in the hearts of the people of the Niger Delta, but it is one thing to take up arms against the status quo and another to come up with practical solutions to earn our peace of mind.

Those who truly understand Ken Saro-Wiwa's political philosophy know why his advocacy was rooted in non-violence and dialogue. His beliefs were partly born of his experiences in the Nigerian civil war of 1967-70.

His memoir, On a Darkling Plain, took its title from Matthew Arnold's poem 'Dover Beach' because he too saw a conflict 'swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, where ignorant armies clash by night'.

The proliferation of small arms and sophisticated weapons into the delta in recent years - some reports suggest there are four guns to every computer in the region - have been seized on by militias aspiring to social justice and by those for whom social justice is a mask for criminal activity.

In such a context, conflict resolution may be optimistic. I prefer the suggestion of a recent Sussex University report on the Niger Delta that what is required is actually a strategy for conflict prevention. Whatever the semantics, Obasanjo has signalled that his administration is on red alert to tackle the issue. With 50 per cent of the world's current armed conflicts estimated to recur within five years, any solution for the delta will need to bring something new to the table. It is not hyperbole to suggest that conflict in the delta could send oil prices over $100 a barrel - an earlier outbreak of trouble in 2004, tipped them above $50 for the first time. But it is not just about oil. This is about people, it is about delivering services, building capacity, providing an enabling environment for a region deprived of basic standards for too long.

In that regard, any misgivings about crossing the line between activism and government was partly eased for me because I have seen the outline of a plan to deliver help to the Niger Delta. It is a bold attempt not only to address poverty and empower people but to create robust economic opportunities to give militias a credible alternative to the gun.

Last month Obasanjo was in London as part of a series of meetings between oil companies, top representatives of the US and UK governments and the World Bank. Obasanjo knows Nigeria's oil wealth must be used to fuel an economy that will drive nation-building. The delta, the source of 95 per cent of Nigeria's foreign exchange, continues to worry investors. Building the economy while reducing conflict is a complex balancing act .

For me, I am, of course, aware that there are still problems with the political and constitutional status quo of Nigeria that work against the prospects of genuine equity for the people of the delta, but the big question for Nigeria is this: how will the delta region's long-standing problems be resolved - by evolution or by revolution?